What Happens in Tijuana stays in Tijuana
by Sarah36396
Summary: Started off as a one-shot but I going to run with it and post multiple chapters. Clint and Natasha are sent to Tijuana to figure out why S.H.I.E.L.D agents are going missing. They uncover far more than they ever intended to and wind up entangled in a web that they just might not be able to get out of. Clint/Natasha
1. Chapter 1

**Started a new account because I took a 30 day writing challenge. Accepting any suggestions for quick one-shots or short pieces! Day 1/30. Quick Clintasha piece set after a job in Tijuana. Thanks for dropping by :) **

Clint sat slouched at the bar with a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. The chaos of the night before was still strewn about the bar top; a mess of bloody rags, bandages, spilled iodine, and antibiotics. A bloodied piece of shirt clung to the edge of the bar and hung there like a rebel flag, although Clint couldn't tell whose shirt the scrap had once belong too. He nudged a bottle of peroxide and it fell over, empty.

'What a night.' He thought to himself, using his good arm to lift the coffee mug to his lips. The other arm rested across his stomach, his bicep still throbbing from the gaping hole an arrow had left. He winced as he remembered the pain of yanking it out and at the fountain of blood that had followed. He slowly straightened his arm out and swore as the muscle painfully jerked.

"Regeneration has never been one of your super powers, you know?" Natasha chided as she walked out of the dingy bedroom and into the even dingier kitchen, if the filthy room could be called that.

"Neither has patience." He chuckled and rested his arm across his body once more. "You look like shit, Nat." She wore a sports bra and a pair of boxers that she had scavenged from Clint's bag. Her ribs were wrapped in what was once a bed sheet and she had a nasty cut above her eye.

"And you look like a million bucks." She retorted. She moved to stand beside him at the bar. She cleared a spot for her elbows and leaned there, eyeing him. "And how are you feeling?" Her eyes roamed over his various bruises and cuts. "And how can you sit on that stool in your boxers? I feel like you are going to catch a disease."

"Like an asshole stabbed me with me own arrow. Oh, wait, she did."

"I said I was sorry!" Natasha sighed and reached over to touch his arm. He flinched as she checked the bandages, frowning at the dried blood that had seeped through. "I wasn't exactly aiming for you. As a matter of fact, I would have gouged old Juantez in the eye if you hadn't jumped in the way."

"And you'd be the one sitting here with a knife wound in your neck if I hadn't shoved you out of the way. Well, maybe not sitting- vegitating?"

"So we are even then?" She raised a brow. "And that isn't even a word."

"Sure," he chuckled and shook his head. "Come here." He twisted around on the bar stool and tugged the hem of the boxers, pulling her to him. "How are the ribs?" His fingers probed the bruised skin across her left side.

"Hurting." She smacked his hand away. "Who knew that drug lords wore steel toed boots to the strip club?" She leaned into Clint's embrace and yawned. "This place gives me the creeps."

"You're telling me. I don't think I slept at all last night. I was worried the roaches would carry me away."

"Ugh." Natasha shuddered. "You're smuggling drugs, arms, and women, but you can't afford to do a little house keeping? Speaking of, how is our guest?"

"Is he really a guest if we are in his apartment?" Clint chuckled. "Your, uh, contact came and picked him up already. He is on his way to a nice cozy jail cell, which I honestly envy him of at the moment. It has to be cleaner than this place."

"You aren't lying." Natasha grabbed his coffee from him and took a drink. "Let's get your bandage changed and get out of here. I'll feel better when we can get back to base and get that arm cleaned up properly."

"I've had worse." Clint shrugged. "I am more worried about starving."

"Let's see what crime lords enjoy for breakfast then, shall we?" Natasha pulled herself from Clint's arms and crossed to the pantry. She opened it up and pursed her lips, scanning the scantily clad shelves. Most everything was canned meat or an opened package crawling with bugs. She made a sound and snatched an unopened box of foreign cereal.

"Bon appetite." Natasha plopped it down in front of Clint.

"Don't suppose he would have any milk that isn't expired?" He opened the package and popped a handful of the misshaped "O's" into his mouth. He chewed experimentally before nodding slowly. "Ah, the breakfast of champions."

"Is that what we are?" Natasha was leaning on the bar again, staring out the window. The sun was beginning to peek over the horizon, casting an orange glow across the run down apartment buildings and decaying houses. Despite the sad state of the town they were in, there was a certain beauty to it. A sad beauty.

"Something like that." Clint made himself get up from the bar stool and moved into the bedroom. He grabbed his tattered jeans from the floor and held them, trying to find the motivation to actually get moving for the day. All they had to do was make it to the next town over to extraction, a task that sounded simple enough. But, Juantez's men were going to be swarming the town looking for the party responsible for their leader's capture.

"Hey," Natasha grabbed his from behind, careful of his arm. She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his back.

"When we get out of Tijuana..."

"Yeah?"

"I owe you dinner. For stabbing you."

"Oh really?" He chuckled. "Alright. It is a date." He felt her smile and he pulled away, tugging his jeans on, careful not to use his arm too much. He slipped on last night's battered button down and grabbed his quiver, securing it to his shoulder. He sighed and slung his bow across his back, wondering if he'd be able to shoot.

"What are you wearing out of here by the way?" He asked as he turned and eyed the tattered remains of the black dress she had wore the night before.

"I suppose I could walk out of here like this." She smiled wryly before moving to the closet. Her nose wrinkled as she opened the door and eyed the dirty laundry on the floor. She pushed that idea from her head and moved to Clint's backpack. "What's left in your bag?"

"Why do you even bother asking?" He chuckled as she started rummaging before he could answer. She pulled out a black shirt and pulled it over her head, then grabbed a pair of too big cargo shorts from the dresser. She sniffed them and groaned before pulling them on.

"We never speak of this."

"You look like you're about to go golfing, but you need to gain a hundred pounds first." Natasha just stuck her tongue out at him before grabbing her holster from the ruins of her dress. She lifted up the right leg of her shorts and secured it to her thigh before pulling the pistol out. She cocked it back with a grin and turned to Clint.

"We look like we belong on an episode of what now to wear."

"Ha, the secret agent addition? Let's get out of Tijuana."


	2. Chapter 2

**So I said that this story was going to be a one-shot, but I really loved the idea of this one so I am running with it. Thanks for reading :) Just a little fluff and backstory before the real fun begins!**

**2 days earlier…**

"Do you have any sixes?" Natasha raised a brow as she tapped her cards against the table top.

"I hate you." Clint muttered as he tossed two cards in her direction. "I swear you cheat at card games."

"Who cheats at 'Go Fish'?" She laughed and swiped his cards up, adding them to her deck.

"Russians."

"Oh, so I am Russian again?" She smirked at him.

"You didn't deny cheating though!" Clint pulled a face as he looked at his pathetic hand. "Do you have any fours?"

"Go Fi-"

"Oh, shut up." Clint grumbled and swiped a card from the deck.

"Don't be a sore loser." Natasha smiled at him. "Any fives over there?"

"Ha, no. Go fish. Don't drown, that'd be a shame."

"Oof, such bitterness over a child's game."

"You seem to rather be enjoying that game for children. Romanoff, Barton." Nick Fury greeted them as he shut the door behind him. "You two look bored."

"Any two's?"

"You asked me that three rounds ago and I said no."

"You might've drawn some since then."

"I'm afraid not bird boy. Go fish."

"You see this nonsense?" He turned to Fury. "Never play cards with a Russian. Ever."

"You act like that is a new thing, Barton." He crossed his arms. "I hate to interrupt such a serious matter, but I have a mission for you two." He sat a folder on the table beside the deck of cards.

"Then don't. At least let me beat Clint first."

"Oh, please, interrupt." Clint swiped a card and his brow furrowed.

"Do you have any one's?"

"Go fish."

"Do you two remember Agent Garcia? You met him at the Director's Dinner last year?"

"Tall, skinny dude? Looked like the wind could blow him away? Yeah, I remember him."

"He's one of your key intel men down south of the boarder, right?" Clint rolled his eyes at Natasha. "Helps keep weapons out of unfriendly hands down in Tijuana and the surrounding areas."

"You're such a kiss ass." Natasha made a face at him.

"It is my turn, isn't it?" Clint suddenly smiled. "You've been keeping track, right Nick? It is my turn?"

"Can we focus for a minute?" Fury sighed. Handling these two was like herding cats.

"Natasha Romanoff." Clint grinned at her mischievously. "Do you have any sixes?"

"Excuse me?"

"I think he asked if you had any sixes." Fury said impatiently. "Garcia has gone MIA as of two weeks ago. I've sent two teams in after him and neither has returned. Coincidently, one of the biggest crime lords in Tijuana has been awfully active lately and I am afraid the two are connected. Is anyone even listening to me?" He snapped finally. Natasha was glaring at Clint and he was still smirking at her.

"I believe I will take the three sixes I _know_ you have." Clint grinned. Natasha flung the cards at him and Clint laid them down with a smile. "And that is game. I win! Ow!" He winced as Natasha's foot lashed out and kicked him underneath the table.

"I hate you." She reached across the table and grabbed his bag of goldfish. She popped several in her mouth and chewed them slowly, a look of distaste on her face. "I really hate you."

"Now who is the sore loser?" Clint laughed and turned his attention to Fury. "So Garcia is MIA, the two teams you've sent in after him are missing, and now you are sending us in? If we are that bad I am sure you could send us back to foster care."

"I am sending you two in because someone is killing my men and I don't like it when people kill my men." Fury scowled. "Who better to find a killer than two master assassins?"

"Fair point." Clint snagged his goldfish back and popped a handful. "Back off spidey, these are mine. I won fair and square."

"Ugh, do NOT call me that." Natasha made a face at him.

"Two master assassins…" Fury muttered to himself. "Who are playing 'Go Fish' with a bag of Gold Fish as the prize…what the hell has my life come to?" He shook his head. "Everything we know is in that file, if you can bother to read it."

"When do we leave?" Natasha kicked Clint again and grabbed the bag back.

"Tonight. We can fly you to Phoenix and then we will have a truck waiting for you that you can drive the rest of the way. It is special built; the bed liner rolls up and has storage beneath it so that you can smuggle all your gear across the boarder."

"Sounds like a plan, Stan."

"You are such an old man." Natasha groaned.

"You two try to come back in one piece, alright? Unfortunately I am rather accustomed to the two of you causing trouble around here."

"Aww, we love you too dad." Clint laughed and Natasha just shook her head. Fury muttered something else to himself and left the room, leaving the two agents alone. Clint picked up the file and thumbed through it before passing it to Natasha with a troubled look.

"Not good?" She asked as she began to skim through the file herself. "Oh, yeah, not good."

"Seems that this Juantez is causing some problems down south. Looks like we are going to Tijuana.

**Several hours later…**

Clint stifled a yawn and shook his head as if to dispel the invisible fog that hung there. His eyes were heavy and he felt sluggish as he guided the black Ford down the empty Mexican highway. The bright beams of the headlights cut through the dark night and occasionally revealed any empty business or empty lot. He tightened his grip on the wheel and rolled his neck, working his jaw back and forth. He knew he should wake Natasha up and let her drive, but they were only a half hour out from their hotel. He could make it.

He cast a glance down at Natasha and smiled. She was curled up on the bench seat, her knees tucked up to her stomach. Her head was resting against his thigh, her mouth opened slightly as she slept. They had been up late the night before and neither of them had gotten any sleep after Fury's visit as they prepared to depart, so Clint did not have the heart to wake her. His attention snapped back to the road as his tires hit the grooved pavement that let him know he was drifting. Natasha made a sound and sat up, rubbing at her eyes.

"What time is it?" She asked sleepily.

"Three in the morning." Clint yawned and ran a hand over his face.

"Pull over and let me drive before you kill us."

"I'm fine. We are only twenty minutes or so out."

"Doesn't matter if we die before we get there." Natasha scooted into the middle seat and rested her head against his shoulder. "I can drive the rest of the way."

"Really, I am fine. Just talk to me. Keep me awake."

"You're so hardheaded." She sighed.

"I learned from the best." He grinned at her. Natasha flipped the radio on and scanned through several channels before settling on a country station. Clint raised a brow, asking an unspoken question.

"I've been hanging out with you too much I guess." She shrugged. "That's where I learned to cheat at card games from."

"Oh, are we back on that now?" Clint chuckled and elbowed her in the ribs. "I believe someone once told me not to be a sore loser? Or am I imagining that?"

"Definitely imaging it." She smiled.

They continued to talk quietly as the truck began to roll into the city limits. Street lights started to illuminate the once dark street and they passed several night clubs and restaurants that were packed to the brim. Clint turned off the main road onto a side street and pulled into the parking lot of their hotel. It was several stories tall and well lit; at least Fury had booked them a decent place to stay.

"Home sweet home." Clint muttered as he parked the truck and killed the engine. He climbed out of the truck and stretched with a groan. Natasha went around to the truck bed and pulled their gear out, tossing him his backpack. His caught it and slung it over his shoulder before grabbing his bow case and nodding towards they hotel. Natasha shouldered her bag and they walked towards the lobby in silence, both too sleepy to say much. They got checked in and made their way up to the third floor before finding their room. Clint swiped the key card that he had been given and the lock clicked. Natasha pushed the door open and flipped on the lights, satisfied to find that the room was cold.

"We have AC this time. Remember the last time we were in Mexico?"

"Yeah." Clint chuckled. "That dingy little pay by the hour motel, right?"

"Mhm." Natasha shook her head. "No AC, the sheets had pesos in them, and the tub was the local gathering hub for the cockroaches. Good times, good times."

"This place actually seems pretty nice." Clint tossed his bag onto a chair and laid his bow case on the table. He kicked his sneakers off before pulling his jeans off and dropping them on top of his shoes. He shed his shirt and added it to the pile before crawling into bed with a yawn. "Which probably means we will get to sleep here for one whole night before our entire mission goes to shit."

"You aren't wrong." Natasha took the time to change into her pajamas before laying down beside him. "What's our first move?"

"We'll figure it out tomorrow." Clint mumbled sleepy, rolling onto his stomach. He tucked his arms underneath his pillow and stretched out. Natasha tucked herself against his side, leeching the warmth from his body. "Night, Nat."

"Good night Clint. Get some sleep while you can…I doubt we are going to be getting any the next few days."


End file.
